aftermath
by cedricsowner
Summary: Picks up at the end of "Communication Breakdown". Chance trying to stand by Ilsa's side in one of the most difficult moments of her life... in his own special way. Was in a weird mood when I wrote this. Spoiler for the episode.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

For a long moment Chance just held Ilsa in his arms. As gently as possible he pressed her face against his chest, making her listen to his heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his breathing. This was important. She needed to perceive those purest, most simple signs of life now – reminders of why she had needed to do what she had done.

Had she not made the decision she had made, it would be her dead body slowly cooling off on the kitchen floor a few feet away now. She needed to realize and never forget that, but simply telling her wouldn't do the job. Step by step she would have to come to that conclusion herself, otherwise this would leave a forever infectious wound on her, far worse than the marks she was carrying on her shoulder already.

After a while her breathing normalized and Chance felt her stir. Of course she thought the worst was over and it was time to get going again. This was Ilsa – moving forward and not dwelling had kept her upright after Marshall's death, why shouldn't the same survival tactic be applicable now?

Because this was a far cry from everything she had ever experienced before. Letting her try to deal with this by breaking out into hectic activity would inevitably damage her permanently.

He increased the force with which he was holding her. Only a tiny notch, just enough to keep her exactly where she was, in touch with a living human being. "Trust me", he whispered. Her body tensed. She didn't understand why he was coercing her to remain where she was. It seemed like the wrongest thing in the world – she had just struggled for her life with a ruthless killer, for heaven's sake! She didn't want to be held in position against her will.

But there was him asking to trust her. Had he ever betrayed her trust? In the few weeks of working together he had already managed to act against her explicit wishes numerous times. But betray her _trust_? Never. Ilsa decided to remain where she was.

Chance took out his mobile and speed-dialed Guerrero. "I need you at Ilsa's. Just you. There's some cleaning-up to do." Once again he could see protest lighting up Ilsa's eyes. No police? No official report?

No. Nothing of that.

Lopez had not been without friends. They would surely come looking for him. With Guerrero making the body disappear forever, chances were they would never make the connection between him and Ilsa Pucci. A police report, on the other hand, would practically guarantee more hassle.

"I can walk!", Ilsa protested as he lifted her from the floor and proceeded to carry her upstairs. If he had been a man of more words he would have explained to her that this was not a matter of being able to do something. This was a matter of not allowing distraction, even if it was just the simple task of setting one foot after another. For now she needed to concentrate on being alive – in contrast to being dead and waiting to be cut into handier pieces by a certain visitor, who if Chance's hearing hadn't deceived him, had just quietly slipped in through the door.

What better way to way to achieve this particular form of concentration than through being restrained and temporarily rendered immobile? This was a lesson he had been taught a long time ago by a friend, with the help of duct tape, handcuffs and the extra-roomy trunk of a Cadillac. In his case the lesson had only worked for a while, but the idea in itself hadn't been bad and now he was ready to pass it on, just without the tape, cuffs and trunk.

He carried her directly into the bathroom, put her on her feet and turned on the tub's faucet. "I keep my eyes closed", he told her. Reluctantly Ilsa shed her clothes. Chance heard her tiptoe past him, naked feet on cold tiles and then, predictably, a shocked hiss as one foot dipped into the water. "This is icy cold!"

With his eyes tightly shut, as promised, he wrapped one arm around her shoulder, slowly pulling her into the water. She gasped as the icy liquid first covered her legs, then her stomach, her bare breasts (Were his eyes still closed? Yes, they were.) and finally her face. For a moment panic set in as she realized that he was actually dragging her underneath the surface. She lashed out at him, drenching him with a huge splash, but then remembered his words: _Trust me._

Ilsa relaxed, allowed him to push her down to the ground of the tub and hold her there. Oddly distorted by the barrier of the moving water she could see his face. His eyes were still tightly shut.

All she could hear now was her own heartbeat against the background of rushing, quietly gurgling water.

And then it dawned on her.

_From now on this will be a part of you forever. But it was necessary and you had no other choice._

Chance felt her body tighten, but not because she was struggling. He felt new-found strength surging through her, strong will that had nothing to do with running away or trying to forget.

He released his grip on her shoulders and, falling back on the floor exhaustedly, allowed himself a smile as she emerged from the water.

At least one of them wasn't going to be eaten away by self-reproach and regret.


End file.
